


Let's Dance to Joy Division

by Minniemax08



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dead Dean Winchester, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemax08/pseuds/Minniemax08
Summary: Everything is going wrong, but we're so happy.This was written a few years ago for a good friend of mine and still isn't finished, but I'll get there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 repost

Sam cried. Not the sort of ‘ow, I stubbed my toe’ tears, nor the tears you cry after the loss of a beloved pet. These were the tears cried by someone utterly devoid of hope, and of happiness. The kind cried when every one else is asleep and all you have is a pillow to dampen with tears, or a wall to slump against in defeat.

He couldn’t believe he was gone. Every time he came back. Hell, piece of cake. Hell again, even better. Plus the amount of times he had come with in an inch of Death’s door, which were too numerous to name. And now, just like that. The man who had saved the world again and again, the man famous for his obsession with pie, women, booze and of course, his baby, his one and only true love, the impala. That bloody stupid car, which was sitting out by the highway at the moment with the wind shield smashed in and the fender looking like a bull had decided to ram it repeatedly just for the hell of it.

Sam’s hand trembled as he clutched the keys tighter, he could feel them digging into his palm, slicing through his calloused skin. Blood dripped from the self inflicted wound, staining the grass red. Sam didn’t even realise he cut himself until he brought his knuckles to his mouth and silently screamed, smearing some of the blood on his lip and tasting the familiar rusty flavour on his tongue. Then he curled up into a ball on the forest floor beneath and old tree, and cried himself to sleep.

The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was the stones digging into his hip and the rather interesting smell wafting through the trees. The second thing he noticed was the sound of crunching leaves beneath boots. Proper heavy thick-soled boots like the ones worn by hunters, or by army men. Certainly not worn by the locals ‘round these parts, or the usual passerby they get driving through on occasion. He should know, he thought as he sat up, he and De-

Sam heaved violently, his head shaking and small whimpers tearing from his lips.

Bad. No, don’t go there. His mind screamed at him and he nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly. It was at that point he saw the boots he had heard before through his fringe. Slowly he let his hands fall to the ground and lifted his head. Taking in faded and frayed jeans that covered lean hips and led up to a tight black t-shirt that showed defined muscles. A blue flannelette shirt topped off the ensemble. By the time Sam’s gaze reached his face, he had stopped breathing.

“Hi Sam, long time no see.”

Sam paled considerably, staring up at the monster they had been trying to destroy all year. He knew he should do something, maybe look for a weapon, an escape route, something, anything. But the voice in his head that usually supplied all the good stuff stayed quiet. It was then that Sam noticed the look on the angel’s face. That pained pitying look. The one you give to a wounded animal that presented no threat. Like he was a fucking kicked puppy. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe insult him a little, mock his style or something, but that voice stayed quiet too. He couldn’t speak, wouldn’t speak. Hell, what was the difference anyway.

The king knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek, his eyes softening and a sad smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I tried to stop them... But sometimes bad things happen.” And with that, Lucifer leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s. The kiss began warm and sweet, Lucifer tasting the way Sam had always imagined he would taste, smoky and sharp, like cinnamon. Hands tugged at Sam’s hair, tilting his head up slightly. Lucifer trailed his lips across Sam’s cheek.

The kiss felt wrong. And wet, and just a tad bit slimy. Sam opened his eyes and blinked rapidly as they got accustomed to the light. It was at that point he realised he was still lying on the ground, and being kissed by something other than the King of Hell. It was a badger to be exact, one who seemed to like licking poor unsuspecting people sleeping on the ground in forests. What Sam didn’t know and would probably never know was that he was the third victim of the badger this week and it was doubtful he would be the last. Usually badgers avoided forests, but this badger found that the grassy plains of his usual habitat provided less victims for his unusual licking obsession.

Sam was stunned for about five seconds before pushing the skunk-like violator out of the way and jumping to his feet. The badger made a rather odd sound before scrambling away.

*

Sam’s hand was crusted in blood, the keys of the impala still clasped tightly in his fist. He brought up his other hand and swiped it across his mouth, trying to wipe off the badger spit and blood that still remained on his face. His hair was in complete disarray, leaves and small twigs poked out at odd angles and dirt caked his cheek, the same cheek that he dreamed Lucifer had kissed. Just thinking about it made him shiver in delight and then gag slightly when he thought of his encounter with the Californian monster.

Sam wished it was real, not the badger love, the kissing Lucifer, and that confused him immensely. Lucifer was evil, the King of fucking Hell ever since he scared Crowley off. Fallen angel and bloody bastard bonanza, a cocktail of evil. Whatever bad thing he could think of think of, Lucifer was probably it, or behind it, or a distant relative of and/or cause of it. Etc. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hot, or that he didn’t have a heart... And there were those thoughts again. Sam growled as he began walking in what he assumed was the general direction of the road where.... It happened.

*

He still didn’t notice the keys in his hand. But that was probably for the best, he thought as he jumped out of his hiding place, the old oak tree that Sam had slept under. He was careful not to make much noise as he weaved in and out of the foliage, spying Sam every now and then in the distance. He had tried to stay away, but it was so hard, especially now. He knew Sam would be broken after what they had done. But things would get better soon. He hoped.


	2. Chapter 2

They laughed. And it was cruel, and it was cold. But it was perfect. In the end, that’s what matters isn’t it? Perfection. The perfect plan. The perfect execution, a perfect life that would never be lived. And that really was absolutely hilarious. Wings spread from behind the shoulders of a million faces, some that had names, and some who had not earned theirs yet.

Most people had this ‘idea’ of what Heaven would look like, fluffy clouds and all that jazz. But ideas can be wrong. Most people wouldn’t think of average looking men and women, dressed in cheap black suits holding blades that look rather like an extended version of a lemon squeezer, but with a bit more pizzazz and shine. They stood row on row, stoic faces, hard cold eyes that could cut you with a well-placed glare. Some smiled, or cackled, or laughed, or grinned and any synonym thereof, as they watched what had to be most glorious. A plan that worked. A simple thing. A sad moment. Zachariah’s rise.

*

The road looked empty. No cars, no big black Impala with the soldier stuck in the armrest, and a permanent screw-up behind the wheel. Nothing, but as Sam stumbled out of the bushes he didn’t think about those things. Maybe there were a few lingering thoughts about badger love, but besides that his head was relatively empty, he was just going through the motions, one foot in front of the other, keys still forgotten.

Sam followed the road east, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders tense, radiating an aura of a man not to be messed with, as if the bedraggled appearance wasn’t deterrent enough. Even the bleeding hearts of this world that drove past weren’t willing to stop. Clouds gathered angrily above him, ready to soak him to the bone in seconds flat. But for now they held back, laughing at him, waiting for the perfect moment to release the storm.

There was a gas station up ahead, not the commercial type, more family business in a once thriving town that’s about to hit rock bottom type. It had gotten just past retro and fallen into grungy and faded. There was an old neon sign past it that said ‘vacancy’ in gaudy green flickering letters with the y hanging at a rather odd angle. Sam didn’t have any money, nothing of value, so he did what any self-respecting broke hunter would do. Slipped his hand into the pocket of an unsuspecting passer-by who looked vaguely well off and stole their wallet. Not the most original plan for cash in a flash, but the best he could think of at the time. He wasn’t up to hustling pool.

Sam walked in, cringing at the sound of an old bell ringing as the door swung open. Everything was dusty, the floor, the windowsill, even the man behind the counter, his skin tinged brown from the sun and wrinkled like old leather. A scraggle of hair clung to his chin, as if unwilling to let go, but it was fighting a losing battle. One eye sat a little lower than the other, giving the illusion that he was never really looking at you. But Sam didn't notice these things, or if he did he didn't care.

"Fourty dollars a night, no mess, no fuss, no noise." Said 'Dusty' in the place of a greeting. Sam glanced at him through his fringe and nodded, pulling out the wallet and grabbing a few bills without a second glance before placing them on the counter. A little bit of dried blood smudged the corners from where Sam's fingers had come in contact with it, but 'Dusty' didn't comment. Just grabbed the bills and stuffed them in the till, practically throwing the key with the number fourty two engraved on the bow at Sam. Sam caught them with his undamaged hand, before shoving them into his jacket pocket and turning to leave.

"Boy," Dusty called out, waiting until Sam's shoulders stiffened before continuing, "we don't want no upset, you hear? Sometimes it's seems like the dog's already been on the rampage."

*

The room wasn't as bad as reception, though dust still seemed to cover every surface. The walls were covered in wallpaper that was more last century than last season, the bed was a double, which meant Sam's feet would hang off the edge unless he curled up and the bathroom was a shitty little cubicle with barely enough room to turn around let alone shower. But Sam managed to get cleaned up. He left the keys to the Impala on the side of the sink and washed his hand, his face impassive as the blood melded with water and was washed away down the drain. He stripped, filling the sink with water and soaking his clothes. He then stood under the barely hot spray, watching as mud and twigs fell to the bathroom floor. Then he sat down, stared at the cream coloured tiles and cried for the second time since the death of his brother. But that was okay, because the tears were washed away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was hot. Mild understatement actually, it was boiling. Roasting temperature. Everything was dry. If you stuck your thanks-giving turkey on the bonnet of one of those Utes out the front it would probably be cooked in about five minutes. Candyless and clothless, Gabriel was not having a good day. His skin was beginning to blister in the afternoon sun and sweat clung to his brow, not in the sexy work-out kind of way, but the sweaty ran a marathon then was submerged in a sauna for three hours and dumped in the Sahara kind of way. His dignity was scattered among several continents, and he had his doubts it was ever coming back.

Gabriel summoned what little pride he had left, lifted his head high and marched through the saloon doors. Now, for some reason the bikers didn’t really seem to appreciate his current state of undress. Gabriel didn’t appreciate it much either to be honest, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Family was stupid.

Definitely.

It was completely and utterly official.

Balthazar, his dear and lovely brother, was a dick.

Gabriel swallowed nervously and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then he took a deep breath and walked up to the bar. The bartender was gaping, a sort of stunned fish expression had appeared on his face and didn’t seem like it was going to go away anytime soon.

"Like what you see?" Gabriel smirked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. The poor bartenders face flamed as he tried to stutter a response.

"I, uh.. You. Um, what?"

"Water? Yes, I'd love some thanks." He grinned crookedly. Fish boy nodded and grabbed a bottle from the fridge behind him, before slapping it on the dark wood counter. Gabriel wrapped his fingers around the bottle slowly and then winked at the guy before turning around to face the other residents of this lovely establishment. He began to walk to the closest available seat, but not before clenching his gluteus maximus in the general direction of the bartender. Then, the guy fainted. He never stood a chance against the butt wiggle.

All eyes were on him and Gabriel didn't mind so much, sure he wasn't in the best of shape, but that's what love of the sugary substance we call candy will do to you. But there was one thing Gabriel could do very very well,

and that,

was perform.

*

Lucifer hated cats. There was just something about them. That sly look they gave you out of the corner of their eye that usually meant, 'I've left a nasty surprise for you to find, Now, I'm not going to tell you where it is, but the stench in a couple of days may be a clue'. And the fur, it was, furry. It stuck to everything, making people look at you like 'I see the definition of a lint brush is lost on you, huh?' And that weird purring thing they did all the fucking time. Did they have a bee with a gramophone stuck in their throat or what? Because he really didn't know what was going on there. That’s why he generally tried to avoid them, which was certainly beneficial for both parties involved.

But slinking around in the back alleys of a rundown motel seemed to be cat central, too bad Lucifer had to do it as well. Kitties creeping, shedding and eating. Lucifer kicked one of them away as it tried to rub against his legs and growled, actually growled.

Thank… God, Lucifer grinned, there was only a couple more hours to go. And then, the plan would be initiated. The storm would be stopped and Sam would be saved.


	4. Chapter 4

 The bed was lumpy. But that was fine. Sam had slept on worse. Not that he slept much. Light streamed in through the moth chewed curtain. The clock showed 5:00am in red digital numbers that flashed rather unpleasantly. Things were quiet. Slow, loud, rushed, contradictions of themselves. His eyes were locked on the ceiling out-lining the patterns that mould, water damage and shitty structural integrity had created over the years with his fingers. His hands dropped to his sides. His clothes were slung over the top of the shower, still drying. And he just lay there, with the springs digging into his back and sunlight in his eyes.

*

Gabriel hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even realise that mortals formed such big attachments to their mothers. So therefore, it wasn't his fault.

“I don’t know what happened Lu, they loved me before. Honest.”

“Sure, right. Shut up and keep your head down.” Lucifer growled and ducked just before a bottle smashed against the wall above his head. A gruff man with a bushy beard, A.K.A, the one who threw the bottle picked up another and aimed it at Gabriel who squealed just as any grown male angel would and dived behind the bar, landing on something rather comfortable, if a little bony. The poor bartender groaned beneath him. It seemed he was finally beginning to gain consciousness. Before he blinked, stared at Gabriel for about five seconds and lost his newly gained consciousness. Ego, mass increased by 10%.

“Get off of him, you dick!” A strong hand yanked on the collar of his newly acquired leather jacket, before throwing him against the counter. Gabriel groaned as his head smacked against the dark wood. And then he joined poor bartender guy on the floor and blacked out.

*

His clothes lay dry on the bed. And Sam himself just stared at them. Didn’t make a move to put them on. Just looked. You know, the way people look at things, without looking if that made sense. His mind somewhere else, but nowhere. Blank. His eyes were dry, but his hair was wet. He’d cut it shorter recently, as it was insisted that he should. His hand came to touch his lips, and he thought of things he shouldn’t have. Things to do with people that he wouldn’t think of if recent events hadn’t happened. But Sam wanted to become a husk. And each minute that passed, he got closer to that goal. His pain eating at his memories.  No, not eating, but hiding.

*

“Sir?”

“What?” He said calmly as he took a sip of his water, ice pressing briefly against his thin lips before splashing back into the water and clinking against the side.

“The Winchester boy has, momentarily, been lost from view.” The ice clinked; the sound quieter than before as it began to melt.

“Momentarily?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s nice.” The sound of glass cracking could be heard through out the room.

Drip,

drip,

drip,

The water trickled through the cracks and dribbled to the floor.

“Would you mind going and finding him.”

“Sir, it is not that easy. He is-” He gestured with two fingers above his shoulder as if waving a cigar in the air, dispersing smoke. The angel screamed. And black wings scorched the walls.

“12... Oh, I mean 15, you know what you have to do.”

Drip,

crack,

drip,

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do it right away, Sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

Gabriel burrowed into the fluffy pillows and pulled the blankets over his head. It was warm. Gabriel liked warm. And candy. But warm was good, even if candy was better.

He purred and burrowed a little more. It took his sleep addled mind a total of five minutes to realise that the bed was a little too warm. And it smelt faintly of leather, and, he sniffed delicately, cats. And maybe an undertone of bananas. It was the bananas that made him sit up, nasty things, all yellow and questionably shaped.

“You’re awake. Took you long enough, sleeping beauty.”

“Oh damn. I’m in Hell.” Gabriel groaned as he flopped back down on the comfy pillows, and then winced as his head began to complain about the sudden movement, stupid Balthazar and his stupid powers and his stupidness of stupid.

“Love you too, little brother.” Gabriel scowled.

“Just so you know, I had everything under control.”

“If that’s what you call under control, I’d hate to be around you when things are out of control.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Fuck, you’re annoying.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Lulu, could you please just shut up for a second?” Silence was Gabriel’s only reply. Thank you, he thought wordlessly before rolling over to look at Lucifer. His breath caught in his throat as he took in Lu’s dishevelled appearance, his hair mussed and his 5 o’clock shadow, leather clad shoulders and... Oh shit. What a lovely vessel.

“I like the new skin, looks good on you.” Gabriel swallowed nervously. Lucifer grinned. Suffice to say, Gabriel felt mildly awkward and for the first time in a long time had to fight down the urge to blush.

“So, uh, what were you doing in Texas, Lu?”

“Saving you,” Gabriel visibly bristled.

“I don’t need saving.” Lucifer stared at the ceiling and decided not to point out that that obviously wasn’t true. A tense silence filled the room, neither brother willing to be the first to break it. Lucifer sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The room wasn’t much. A queen bed situated in the middle and a rather floral print on the curtains. Quaint was the word. Boring was another.

“Look Gabriel, I don’t care about what ever issues you have at the moment. I’m not allowed to care. So I’m sorry if saving you from the repercussions of your shitty social skills and crap attempts at sibling bonding isn’t what you wanted.” And with that he stalked out of the room.

Gabriel grabbed a pillow and decided now would be a good time to try and smother himself with it. He was human for another three hours thanks to Balthazar; he may as well experience all there is to experience during mortality.

~

The way he saw it, there were three facts. One, his brother was dead. Two, he knew who was responsible. And three, they would die.

~

“Lu, I’m sorry.” He tapped his brother’s shoulder hesitantly and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. It was cold, really, really cold. He could feel the icy tendrils of air through the bunny slippers he was wearing, making his toes curls and goose bumps to appear along his skin.

Lucifer didn’t turn around; instead he did something Gabriel hadn’t seen him do in thousands of years. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and cried. Because that’s what you do when you’re confused and tired and alone, because while things were going according to plan, Lucifer just wanted to sleep. A strange thing for a being who had never slept a day in his life. Gabriel sat down next to Lu and stroked his hair softly, for once keeping the snide remarks and cynical comments to himself.

“Why did you come for me, Lu?” He whispered softly. Lucifer lifted his head and swiped at his tears angrily. Then he looked right into Gabriel's eyes.

“Because, I need your help.”


	6. Chapter 6

Once upon a time there were two brothers, who loved each other very much. Then one did something unforgivable and Father made a choice. And while they still love each other, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Because one fell, and the other hid.

But that’s the story of all brothers. Lucifer and Gabriel, Sam and Dean, Cain and Abel.

-

“Why?” It was a simple enough question. Something Lucifer had heard many times before, whether it be from demons in the pit as he split their intestines, or humans begging for their lives before he sought them out and crushed their skulls with his bare hands. Laughing at the monster he had become. But it wasn’t something that fit the context in that moment. What, would have been a more appropriate a question. Unless…

“You know.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement. A fact. Something that couldn’t be changed.

Gabriel tensed, before his eyes turned cold.

“Of course I know. You think I haven’t been keeping tabs on you? Of all people… Why do you have to do it? Father let this happen for a reason, at least you’re alive. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

“Alive…” Lucifer sighed wearily. “Funny definition you have there. I don’t want to be the monster anymore. I don’t want to be what people fear.” Gabriel watched as the façade fell away, he had known. He’d always known what Father had done. Made Lucifer fall just so he could have his own little puppet show. His brother had been good, and sweet, the morning star as his name had stated. Then Father grew jealous of his son. And he cast him down under false pretences, saying that it was Lucifer who was jealous. Lucifer who wanted power and death. Many angels had doubted that sweet little Luci had been guilty of this treason, but when your Dad’s God, it’s kinda hard to question him. So Lucifer did the only thing he could do, either that or waste away, he became what his Father wanted. And The Devil was born.

Gabriel pressed his lips to his brother’s temple, forgetting about the cold as the blanket fell off his shoulders and on to the deck.

“I want to put things right.” He said it so softly that Gabriel almost missed the words with his stupid human hearing. He took a moment to curse Balthazar before stating the obvious.

“It’s not going to be easy.” Lucifer closed his eyes.

“Excuse the cliché brother, but nothing worth doing ever is.” Lucifer wiped at his eyes again, his hand shaking slightly. Gabriel nodded and reached down to hold Lucifer’s hand in his.

“Okay, then let’s do this. Any idea where you want to start?” Lucifer squeezed his hand back and turned so he was facing his little brother.

“Yes. With Samuel Winchester.” And with that he pulled his brother’s face close to his and kissed him passionately, his free hand reaching up to tangle in Gabriel’s hair, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

-

The world seemed too alive to deal with at the moment. So he just slipped on his clothes, one piece at a time, his movements very mechanical, precise, not a single tremor in his body to be noticed. Sam left his shoes and socks off, bending down for a third time seemed too much effort, so instead he paced. Making sure not to think of anything, especially of that. It was the sound of wings that broke the void in his mind and he immediately dived for his pillow and extracted the knife that lay there and turning around.

“What do you want?” Sam’s asked calmly. The hilt of the knife pressing against his cut, not that he noticed. The angel before him was a stranger, dressed in the traditional black and white business suit. Other than the startling shade of green his eyes were, there was nothing particularly noticeable or remarkable about him. Brown hair. Not bald. Slight stubble with tanned skin that held few blemishes besides the occasional freckle dusting his cheekbones. Thin. Tall. He also seemed to have his blade drawn. Something that finally, Sam did notice.

“My name is Ambriel. I am here as a messenger.” His voice was deep and booming, though his tone was almost condescending. The angel bowed his head slightly, his gaze not once flickering to the knife Sam clutched, just staring into his eyes in a sort of matter of fact kind of way. Sam tilted his head to the side, assessing the threat before him, before sighing wearily.

“What is your message?” Sam’s voice was scratchy, he suddenly realised just how thirsty he was, his free hand coming up to rub at his throat. The angel’s gaze finally flickered from his face to watch the small motion of his hand, his tongue wetting his lips, almost as if he could feel Sam’s thirst.

“Lucifer killed your brother. And now he is after you it seems.” Sam’s mind immediately shut down, his hand falling to his side limply and his face slack.

“I have no brother.” He spat the last word, as if disgusted it even passed through his lips. Ambriel said nothing, he just watched. Before he nodded almost imperceptibly and the sound of wings and wind filled the room once more. Then Sam woke up.


End file.
